


Threads of Black and Gold

by ClydeThistles



Series: It Takes Three (Tissaia/Margarita/Yennefer) [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Foolish youngsters, Tissaia needs to relax, Unstable Portals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:08:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25984903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClydeThistles/pseuds/ClydeThistles
Summary: Yennefer and Rita find Tissaia tired and at her wits' end, they decide to take care of her and help her relax.
Relationships: Margarita Laux-Antille/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg/Tissaia de Vries
Series: It Takes Three (Tissaia/Margarita/Yennefer) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1900702
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	Threads of Black and Gold

Tissaia lowers her quill and knuckles her eyes, groaning as her neck clicks and her shoulders coil uncomfortably. It is late but she is still sat at her desk because there are things that require her attention of which relaxation and sleep must be the casualties. The corridor outside her door is dark at this hour which means she sees the flicker of a lamp through the crack between the door and flagstones, forewarning her that some fool is about to disturb her. This warning does little to assuage her surprise however when two former students tumble into her study, giggling and shushing one another. One with black curls and the other with golden waves, both indescribably beautiful and both long-term nuisances. Neither notice Tissaia in the shadows behind her desk.

“Be quiet, Rita! Someone will hear us!”

“Tch Yenna, what are you so nervous about? Are you still scared of the big bad Rectoress?”

Tissaia does not need to shout or stand, the cold steel of her voice cuts through their raucous hilarity with practiced ease, “She would be a fool if she were not. As would you.”

She supresses a smirk when the two girls (they may both be almost a century old, but they are still girls to Tissaia) go stock still and the blood drains from their faces.

“To what impending crisis do I owe this visit? I cannot imagine you would dare abandon your courts and crash into my study in the dead of night for any reason other than a dire emergency?”

Nothing. Only shifty looks and nervous titters. Tissaia sighs and presses her fingers to her temples,

“Unless of course you are both drunk and, once again, I am left to pick up the pieces. I understand you may feel young when compared to a mage like me but is it not time to put such childishness behind you? Can you not see the strain you and your fellow sorceresses cause with your irresponsible ways? Must I _always_ be the one to carry _everything_?!”

During this tirade, Tissaia has risen to her feet, her fingers digging into the wood of her desk, the tension and exhaustion finally getting the better of her legendary calm. Rita and Yennefer exchange concerned looks, Yennefer asking,

“Are you alright? You seem tense.”

Tissaia glares, “And you have a penchant for stating the painfully obvious, piglet.”

And then she sinks back into her chair, lowers her forehead to rest on the desk, her hands hanging limply by her sides and sighs,

“Gods, I’m tired of being in control.”

Yennefer comes towards her but Tissaia stands abruptly and makes a beeline for the door. She cannot allow them to see her like this. She is so busy concentrating on avoiding Yennefer that she walks headlong into Rita who is barring the door.

“Let me pass.”

“No. You’re going to let us take care of you.”

“You? You can barely take care of yourselves, it’s a wonder you’re standing upright given you smell like the inside of Touissant barrelhouse.”

Rita’s hands come up to hold Tissaia by her upper arms, caressing gently “We’re not drunk, Tissaia. We did collide with a wine merchant’s stall when we portalled in but that’s Thanedd for you… you really should do something about the portal distortions, can’t you turn off whatever Tor Lara is emitting?”

“Do you think if it were possible, I would have waited this many years before doing so? Foolish girl. All of you foolish girls.”

She meant it to sound patronising and snide, but it comes out as wearily affectionate and Tissaia can’t help noticing she is relaxing into Rita’s grip. When she feels another pair of hands slide round her waist and a warm cheek nestle against her temple, Tissaia shivers and melts even further. Yennefer’s voice is gently teasing,

“That’s why you love us, we’re _your_ foolish girls.”

Tissaia blames her exhaustion for the ease with which she has surrendered, for how pliable she has already become in their hands. There is no resistance when Rita draws her in and wraps her arms round her, cradling Tissaia’s head against her shoulder. And none when Yennefer inches her hands tighter round Tissaia’s waist and presses her front fully against Tissaia’s back, laying a cheek against Tissaia’s hair. They hold her for as long as it takes, until every iota of tension has dissipated from her and she is warm and soft between them. And then Rita murmurs, her fingers caressing the back of Tissaia’s neck,

“We could do more to relax you, if you’d like? Give you a chance to…fall apart.”

Tissaia stiffens, her pulse skittering and mouth going dry.

Yennefer hums in agreement, “Mmm, give you a break from being in control and let all that tension... slip away.”

As she says it, she glides a hand down the satiny fabric of Tissaia’s gown to rest on the outside of her thigh. Tissaia stands very still, she should refuse outright, should smack their heads together for such impertinence. But it feels _good_ in their arms, and it has been so long, too long, since anyone held her, touched her, cared for her. And so, uncertain what madness has possessed her but without the energy or desire to fight it, Tissaia relinquishes control and nods her consent. Rita offers,

“Shall we go somewhere more comfortable?”

Yennefer counters, “Although somewhere within walking distance, mind, I don’t fancy another escapade with dodgy portals.”

“Just because _you’re_ incapable of conjuring one on the island doesn’t mean we have to walk everywhere.”

“Oh, and _who_ was it landed us in the middle of a vat of Beauclair White?”

Tissaia shushes, “You’re meant to be relaxing me not causing further vexation.” She shuts her eyes momentarily, the Chaos escaping from her making the two younger mages shiver pleasantly. The fire in the grate roars to life, the lanterns flaring to cast a warm glow throughout the room and the door locks itself with a click. Still cradled in between Yennefer and Rita, Tissaia looks smug at her handiwork, “Here will be just fine.”


End file.
